


burdens shared

by notsowearypilgrim



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, did i write this for the sole purpose of having din show up on sorgan and ask omera for a hug, din is a stressed single father who is just doing his best, hugs are free therapy babeeeyyy, maybe so, self indulgent fics are the only thing 2020 has not taken from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27889075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsowearypilgrim/pseuds/notsowearypilgrim
Summary: “I need your help.”Omera is not a stupid woman, which means she picks up on his hoarse voice and tense posture as soon as he says this. Immediately she steps even closer, and puts one hand on his arm between his pauldron and vambrace.“Of course. What is it?”“I…”I lost my child, he thinks, and almost has to kneel from the way those words strike him to the core.
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Din Djarin, Boba Fett & Fennec Shand, Din Djarin & Boba Fett, Din Djarin/Omera
Comments: 30
Kudos: 273





	burdens shared

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 14!!!!!

Fett lands within visible distance of the village.

It’s winter on Sorgan, though with the planet’s warmer climate that just means the trees are bare and the fields have browned until everything is a depressing wash of gray and beige. When he stands and makes his way toward the ladder, his two new partners follow without saying a word.

“An associate of yours?” Fennec asks. He understands the question; Sorgan is the perfect place for someone hiding from the law, as evidenced by Cara’s presence here on his first visit. And while his brain has been going nonstop since he first climbed aboard Fett’s ship to form a list of possible allies, he knows better than to lie to himself.

Yes, he’s putting together a team. 

But this stop isn’t about recruiting anybody. 

“A friend.” He doesn’t wait for either of them to question his short answer any further before leading them down the ramp.

At first he’s almost disappointed that none of the kids are running to welcome him. He’d thought he’d gotten on well with them before. But then he notices the frowns towards the ship he just exited, and he realizes they were probably watching for the Crest. He’s somewhat gratified by the looks of pleasant surprise when the villagers realize it’s him, and even more so when the excited screams of children announce their arrival just before several small bodies collide with his midsection.

“Mando! You came back!”

“My mom said you could teach me to shoot once I get big, can you tell her you learned when you were small so I won’t have to wait?”

“Mr. Mando, is your armor  _ really _ heavy?”

“Where is he?”

The last question comes from one of the two people he’s been dreading and looking for in equal measure. Gently, he disentangles a boy’s arms from around his leg, and reaches up to hold her shoulders.

She’s so much taller. All arms and legs, stuck in the awkward, disproportionate phase of not-quite childhood, but in her face he can see Omera. He swallows.

“I need to see your mother.”

Winta clearly hasn’t just grown physically in his absence. Her eyes widen in realization, and then she wastes no time with any more questions. She nods, grabs him by the wrist and hauls him away, weaving through the huts. He manages to shoot a quick “wait here” before Fett or Fennec try to follow, and then it’s all he can do to keep up.

She leads him to the barn where he stayed before, and gestures with her head. “Wait inside. She’s at the meeting house, I’ll go get her.”

“Thank you.”

He doesn’t know if she hears him, because she’s already disappeared. He steps inside the barn and immediately catches sight of the tiny crib, sitting in the corner. It’s been dusted and there’s a blanket draped over the side.

Din hears an odd creaking noise and realizes his fist is clenched so tightly it’s straining the leather of his gloves.

He takes a deep breath - or at least tries - and manages to look away. The small space is more cramped than it was, with winter provisions piled in crates and dried vegetables hanging from the rafters. Idly he wonders if he would have to try and keep a certain pair of tiny green hands out of the barrels of foodstuffs.

Footsteps, light but hurried, thump outside, and then the light spilling through the doorway is blocked by a silhouette he’s only seen in his mind’s eye in months.

“Mando?”

Somehow he manages to swallow. “I’m sorry, to drop in unannounced like this, I - “

“Don’t be silly, you’re always welcome here.” She steps forward, with that same kind smile he remembers so well. “How are you?”

He almost laughs, mostly because he’s been trying to avoid even thinking about that question since he saw his son’s terrified face flying away from him towards a Star Cruiser.

“I need your help.”

Omera is not a stupid woman, which means she picks up on his hoarse voice and tense posture as soon as he says this. Immediately she steps even closer, and puts one hand on his arm between his pauldron and vambrace.

“Of course. What is it?”

“I…”

_ I lost my child,  _ he thinks, and almost has to kneel from the way those words strike him to the core.

He’s been acutely aware of the fear and worry souring his stomach. He’s not in denial there. But it’s the first time he’s said the words, even to himself. Even when he spoke with Cara, it was easier to mention the Imps’ crime rather than discuss the events from the perspective of his loss.

Something tells him, though, that if he tries to act more like a bounty hunter than a father, Omera will see right through him. Just like she always has.

So he takes another breath. “The….my kid. They took him.”

Omera goes very, very still. “Who took him?”

“The Imperials. The ones who wanted him to begin with.”

Din feels her hand on his arm tighten, just a little. Without thinking about it, his hand on that arm comes up to cup her elbow from underneath. The movement makes them both shift their weight until they’re even closer than before, and even with the helmet he knows she can see him, laid bare in all of his grief.

“I’m putting together a team. I have to go after him, they’re using him for experiments and they don’t care if he….”

He tries to swallow again, but this time the lump in his throat refuses to budge. He tries to speak around it, and his voice comes out strangled and warbled, like bad static on a com link.“He - “

“We’ll find him,” Omera immediately says. Her other hand comes up to rest on his other pauldron, thumb brushing over the mud horn signet. “Mando, it’s going to be okay. We’ll find him.”

“Din.”

“What?”

For a second he considers lying to her. But deep down he knows that he didn’t come here for her help, he came here to seek out the comfort her mere presence somehow brings him. Hearing the name used by enemies, acquaintances, and everyone in between, isn’t going to do it for him.

“My name is Din. Din Djarin.”

She’s surprised, but one thing he learned about her is that she’s pretty good at rolling with the punches. She nods, and squeezes his arm again through the sleeve. “Okay. Din, we are going to find him. I promise. We’ll help.”

“No.” The very last thing he needs is Gideon learning of this place, and the children that followed Din around like shadows, and the woman with the kind smile and kinder heart who was willing to love his son as her own. “No, I can’t ask you to - “

“You’re not asking. I’m volunteering.”

He huffs, though he’s not really annoyed and she knows it. “I didn’t come here to ask for your help in going up against them.”

“Then why did you come here?”

Din falters. 

Admitting it to himself is one thing. Telling her to her face that no one else in the galaxy has ever brought him peace like she has, that no one else has ever been willing to simply let him exist without trying to pick him apart by separating the man from the armor, that no one else has ever understood or accepted that the two are one…

That’s another matter entirely.

“Din?”

She looks concerned now. And sad. He doesn’t like the way sad looks on her so he tries to clear his throat, get rid of the stupid lump that’s making his voice tremble. But all it does is make his eyes burn, and his vision blurs and vaguely he becomes aware that it’s not just his voice that’s shaking - it’s all of him.

At last, all he can manage is:

“He looked scared.”

Omera’s mouth turns down even more. “Oh, Din.”

“I failed him. He needed me to protect him. I told him I would protect him. But - “

“Din.” Her voice is kind, but leaves no room for argument. “Take your helmet off.”

He stiffens.

“I’ll keep my eyes closed, and I told Winta not to let anybody else in here. Everyone’s at dinner by now anyway. Just...take it off. Please.”

Her eyes are already closed, and it’s easier than he thought it would be to slip the beskar off of his head. She takes it from him and sets it clumsily on a barrel she must remember being nearby. Then she turns back to him, feels for his cuirass with hesitant hands, and as soon as she makes contact she slides her arms around his neck and presses her whole body close.

It’s been years since he was held like this, with any sort of affection or softness.

Perhaps it’s a sign that this is what he’s been craving, then, when his arms immediately return the embrace.

He squeezes her tight, and the side of her cheek that’s pressed against his own twitches a little bit in what he belatedly realizes is a wince. He releases her, quickly and guiltily.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean - “

“It’s okay.” Her eyes are still closed, even as she steps back. “Can we - “

Wordlessly, she taps at the beskar. And maybe it’s his grief, maybe it’s the fact that holding her with the armor on was just enough to indicate that holding her without it would be so much better, or maybe it’s the way she’s managing to look at him without actually looking at him.

Whatever it is, it has him obeying without a moment’s hesitation. He sheds the beskar quickly, sets his gloves on top of his helmet. He reaches for her wrist, and feels her pulse jump under his fingers. His own heart is pounding against his ribs so fiercely he can almost taste it, but her skin is soft and warm and she wastes no time in wrapping him in her arms once more.

Something between a sigh and a sob escapes him when his head settles back onto her shoulder. She smells of grass, of woodsmoke and earth and some kind of flower that he remembers the village women gathering in the summer months to make perfumes to sell in town. That scent especially is strongest on her skin rather than her clothes, and it leads him to bury his face in her neck, above the collar of her dress.

“Shhh.” One of her hands cups the back of his head, almost encouraging his nuzzling. The other rubs across his shoulder blades in a steady, soothing rhythm.

“He knows,” she says quietly. “He knows you love him, he knows you’re coming for him. And he doesn’t think you failed him.”

_ He forgives you _ , Ahsoka said. 

Din burrows harder into Omera’s skin and can’t even find it in him to be embarrassed when he fails to stifle a whimper.

“Here.” Gently, she pushes him away and points, eyes still closed. “There’s a cot, where you slept. Sit down.”

He doesn’t let go of her hand this time, but instead of sitting down beside him she catches him completely off guard by lowering herself into his lap.

“Is this okay?”

Din suddenly realizes he’d grabbed her thigh out of surprise. He releases it and returns both arms to her waist. “Yes.”

In this position, his head is level with her collarbone. She tucks him beneath her chin and rocks back and forth, rubbing his back and carding her fingers through his hair, until Din feels completely surrounded by her gentle, soothing warmth. He starts focusing on his breathing, trying to pull himself back under some kind of control, and after a few minutes he leans back to look up at her.

Her eyes are still closed, as he knew they would be. She still looks sad, but somehow he knows it’s at least partly for him. The thought of someone sharing his grief, or at least grieving for him, makes the burden feel not so suffocating, somehow.

Without realizing it, he’s raised one hand to cup her cheek.

“Thank you.”

She’s surprised by the new contact, but she doesn’t flinch away. She smiles, still a little sad, and lifts her hand to press his a little more firmly to her face.

“You’re welcome.”

Her thumb rubs softly over his knuckles, and underneath his middle finger he can feel her pulse, still thundering away. His own thumb shifts to slowly - carefully - touch her lip.

Surprised once again, Omera gasps, and he’s lost.

He’s tried so hard since finding that little green gremlin to be a good man - or at least a good enough one. He hasn’t always gotten it right - the beskar he wears is proof enough of that - but he’s reminded himself over and over again that he went back. He righted the wrong, and he likes to think that he’s making a habit of leaving more peace and happiness in his wake than destruction or death. 

He’s not the same man he was a year ago, but he’s not the man he should be and definitely not the man the kid deserves. But Omera tastes like redemption, her arms feel like forgiveness, and for the first time the idea isn’t completely abstract to him. 

“Mando, are we staying the night?”

Omera jumps, startled, and Din instinctively claps a hand over her eyes, and then stares at the shadow just visible on the porch beneath the curtain strung across the doorway.

“No,” he calls. “I’ll be out in a second, we’ll eat and then leave.”

Fennec walks away without saying anything else, and he feels absurdly grateful that she knew on her own not to enter. He looks back up at Omera, removing his hand from her closed eyes.

“Sorry.”

She shakes her head. “It’s fine, I almost forgot and opened them by accident.”

For a second he wonders if things will be awkward now. But he feels her fingers card through his hair again, and he grips her thigh in return. She smiles at the contact, but instead of returning it he feels something inside him shrivel up.

“I’m sorry, I….” He sighs. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay,” she tells him gently. “You needed comforting, there’s no shame in that.”

“No, I - I took it too far.”

“Did it seem like I minded?” She asks dryly.

He huffs, the closest thing to a laugh he’s had since playing with Grogu and that stupid silver ball.

“Maybe you should have minded.”

“Din.” She cups his face in her hands, and even though her eyes are still completely shut he has never felt more seen in his entire life. “Did you want to kiss me at all, when you were here the first time?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t have to think about it. The memory of how the sunlight shone off her hair that morning as they stood beside the ponds, as she offered him and his boy a place in their home, is almost sacred in how sharply the longing still cuts through him when he remembers how much he wanted to let her take off his helmet.

She smiles again, and kisses his forehead with so much tenderness that he feels his eyes sting again. “Then you have nothing to apologize for. Come on, let’s get some dinner and then we can start planning. I’ll have to make arrangements for Winta while I’m gone.”

“I’m not asking you to go with me,” he says again. She started to get up as she spoke but he grabs her hips to stop her. “Omera.’

“Din. I can be useful on a mission like this, and if you think you’re going to fly off again and I’ll have to wait here for who knows how long before I know that precious baby is safe and sound, you obviously didn’t think this out very well.”

There’s no use arguing with her when she uses that voice. He sighs anyway, but she smirks, kisses him on the forehead again and gets up to fetch his helmet. Once it’s on she opens her eyes, smiles gently, and holds out her hand.

“Come on. Plans are best made on full stomachs.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I swear if somebody doesn’t hug Din at some point this season I’m coming to Filoni’s house and leaving rotten fish in all his air vents.


End file.
